


Hands off

by DenmarkStreetGutterClub



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Idiots in Love, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 04:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30134217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenmarkStreetGutterClub/pseuds/DenmarkStreetGutterClub
Summary: Robin has a gem in her pocket. How did it affect Strike?
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Hands off

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, a companion piece to Gem in her pocket

You looked beautiful when you arrived this afternoon. There was a glow about you and I found it so hard not to stare. I’d felt bad about phoning you, I’ve been trying to get you to rest a bit more, make use of your days off, but I also wasn’t sorry I got to speak to you or see you. I never am, truth be told. Hearing your voice is like taking a large, soothing gulp of strong, sweet tea. Restorative.

But when you answered the phone, there was something else there. In fact, you were panting so hard I wondered if there was some _ one _ else there, and I strained to try and hear the timbre of a male voice in the background. You said you were exercising, and I felt bad for interrupting your recreation, and then I felt a different kind of bad for imagining you in gym clothes, sweaty and breathless and flushed.

I’d answered your question about why I was phoning while trying to suppress that image of you, and my words were automatic, unconscious, ambiguous. I said I needed you and your reply, dripping sex, like honey on hot buttered toast, sent me into a momentary tailspin. I told myself it was just my imagination, a bit of stupid fantasy bullshit, but that didn’t stop the sudden twinge in my groin. I’d managed to reply, but I don’t think I’d sounded as smoothly normal as I wanted. I’d given more detail as a way to refocus, and your affirmative was reassuring, though I could have sworn I thought I heard you squash laughter and I had a mad self-conscious moment thinking that you somehow knew what you’d done to me.

You couldn’t know. I sometimes think you know - sometimes, in fact, I’m sure that our attraction is mutual, but even you, with your preternatural ability of knowing the perfect gift, or the perfect flowers, or being able to look at a man and _ just know _ he has cheated on you, couldn’t know that your breathless, sultry voice gave me an unbidden erection.

I’d obviously controlled myself before you arrived, and the sight of you didn’t induce a repeat performance, but now, the day spent, and alone again after whiling away the hours doing the job we both love with you, that image of you walking in is drawing me down sunlit paths in my mind and I’m disinclined to resist.

I’m not going to  _ do _ anything. I have urges that I take care of, obviously, I’m a normal bloke, but you’re not wank fodder. What I feel about you isn’t cheap enough to waste on a quick shuffle with pam and her five sisters, and feeling that I’ve disrespected you would kill any thrill as quickly as it rose up.

But thinking about you, just _ thinking _ about you pumps the blood round me strongly, and I can’t help my reaction. My brain connects the breathless way you answered the phone and the honeyed drip of your voice, to what you looked like when you arrived, your cheeks glowing when you saw me, your lovely hair in a neat ponytail. You looked so well put together, so classy, competent and in control.

I love it, but I also want to mess you up, see you flustered, rumple a few creases in the tidy exterior, make your eyes dark and unfocused and see your pretty mouth fall open, maybe whisper my name. Ok, easy, mate. I’m skirting close to the line here, and I shift in bed, the friction of the covers on me not doing anything to make the hardness subside. It takes everything I’ve got not to slip my hand down and just sort this out, but I know I’d think of you and I’ve already put my line in the sand there, so I squeeze my hands into fists and turn over onto my front, wrapping my arms around my pillow and thinking that sleep will take me quickly.

It doesn’t. Instead I am laying down, my dick pressed solidly between belly and bed, still thinking about you. I push my face into my pillow, holding my breath, trying to concentrate on something less alluring than you, but it’s not working. In fact, as much as I’m keeping my hands resolutely around my pillow, I’m ever so lightly rocking my hips and the motion is both providing some relief and no bloody help at all.

It’s been such a long time since I was actually with anyone and the celibacy sits so oddly on me. It’s not that I can’t do it, I clearly can, sex isn’t a compulsion. I’ve known compulsion. Every time Charlotte spun off and then back again, and I took her back because I couldn’t not. Shit, thinking about Charlotte puts a really nasty tinge on the way I’m feeling right now, and I’m forcing her out of my mind and the only thing that does that effectively is you, and there you are in my mind again, so beautiful, and my hips are rocking into the mattress and I am clinging to the pillow. I’m not sure if this counts, as I’m not actually touching myself, am I?

What if I just focus on the feeling? It’s nice enough, and coming would put a swift end to this and I could just sleep.

I manage for a few seconds, the weight of my body on myself, the softness of the cotton sheet, my muscles pleasantly tensed. But the sensation is only stoking up the longing I have for you, wishing my arms were wrapped around you rather than my pillow, and even the thought of the sleep I’m seeking afterwards hurts a little because it’s just making me think of the way you feel when I hug you and how good you would feel against me as I slept.

I groan into the pillow. Fuck it. I rock my hips in earnest, and yeah, I’m thinking of you, all you, you panting breathlessly, you murmuring things softly to me, you fitting so neatly into my embrace, you beneath me, you saying my name, whispering it, shouting it, pleading with me, kissing me, all you. Now I’ve stopped holding back, the feeling building in my groin ramps up exponentially and this’ll be quick now, thank fuck. I see one last frantic imagining, bizarrely, it’s you on a hillside marked with a chalk horse, and your cheeks are rosy with the fresh air and you look so damned healthy and vibrant, and I think it’s actually the sheer aliveness of you that pushes everything into the throbbing explosion of my dick into the mattress, and I’m fucking sure I shout your name into the pillow.

I turn my head to the side, catching my breath, a little dizzy as the blood begins to resume its regular course around my body. I can’t stop this, not anymore. The way I feel about you isn’t wilting away after coming, it’s still pulsing away in my heart and my guts. I think you feel something for me. I hope you do. Because I know now, come hell or high water, I have to tell you.


End file.
